


The Beast In Me

by tahitianmangoes



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, F/M, Mild Gore, Mild Horror, Not Canon Compliant, Other, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:08:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27266983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tahitianmangoes/pseuds/tahitianmangoes
Summary: You never thought you'd be heading home to the ranch but after your father passed away and leaves the ranch to you, that's exactly where you find yourself. Nothing much has changed about Strawberry or the surrounding areas since you left... Apart from the rumours that there's something lurking in the woods. Something that isn't an animal at all...
Relationships: Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston, Arthur Morgan/Reader, Kieran Duffy/Mary-Beth Gaskill
Comments: 11
Kudos: 95





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This is part one of my Halloween fic that I've been working on! Updates will be daily. I hope you enjoy, please feel free to leave kudos or feedback!

_The beast in me  
Is caged by frail and fragile bars  
Restless by day  
And by night rants and rages at the stars_

****

You had never cared for scary stories, ghosts, ghouls and the like. You weren’t scared of things that go bump in the night and didn’t believe in the local gossip of creatures that would snatch up children who played too far from the town or strange sounds from the mountains.  
Ghosts and ghouls didn’t exist. People do.

****

Daddy had never really been the same since mama passed. He took it hard, real hard. You visited him twice a year if you could find the time but he wasn’t the same man who had raised you. 

Maybe a part of him died when your mama had. And now the rest of him had died too. 

Consumption, the doctor had said over the telephone; he’d hidden it pretty well from you, just telling you that it was the cold getting to his chest and you’d believed him or maybe you had wanted to. You knew he hadn’t wanted to worry you. The doctor said he had passed in his sleep. The ranch hand had found him the next day. It had been peaceful, apparently. You sure hoped so. 

So you quit your job in Saint Denis and took the long train ride back home.  
Autumn in Lemoyne was very different to that of West Elizabeth. The days were still hot, the sun seemed merciless sometimes but as the train rattled into Riggs Station, it felt like you were in a different country. Night was drawing in already; it always seemed to draw in faster out west. You could feel the chill of wind that swirled around your feet and the few leaves left on the trees rustled melancholically. 

There was no one else left on the train by now, most people had gotten off at Valentine so only you headed into the wood cabin that was the station, a far cry from the bustling Saint Denis station. 

The clerk was busy lighting lanterns as you had walked in but he greeted you all the same. “Good evenin’. Can I help you?”  
“Yeah,” you replied, “do you know when the stagecoach will arrive?”  
“Arrive?” The clerk repeated, sounding confused as he went back behind the counter. “Well it just left not fifteen minutes ago.”  
You sighed before asking when the next one would come.  
“Not til tomorrow mornin’ I’m afraid. Where do you need to go?”  
“You know White Bison Ranch?”  
“Sure, I know it - out by Little Creek River... Wait! Are you takin’ the place over?”  
You nodded. You’d hoped to get there before it got too late but it looked like that wouldn’t be happening now, the sky was already bleeding black, like ink onto parchment.  
“Well I’m sorry, there won’t be nothin’ til the mornin’.”

“I could take ya.”

The new voice made you turn, startled. There was a man sitting inside the cabin that you hadn’t noticed. He stood as he spoke to you.  
“I can take you as far as Strawberry if that helps?”  
“It’s certainly better than sleeping here tonight.” You replied and he smiled. The man was tall and slender, his hair dark and down past his collar, his eyes a glittering hazel and kind. The left side of his face was scarred, as if he had been in an animal attack but it didn't make him any less handsome. He held out his hand to you.  
“John Marston.”  
You shook his hand and reciprocated his greeting with your name.  
“I’m waitin’ on a delivery from Blackwater, shouldn’t take too long now then we can get you to Strawberry.” He told you.  
Just as he said that, a wagon pulled up and a man hopped down, “Mr Marston? I have the medicines you ordered.”  
“Thanks,” John said gruffly, taking the parcel from the man almost furtively. You followed John Marston around the side of the cabin to where his buggy was. He put the parcel in the back then helped you with your luggage and then you got up on the buggy with him. 

You made your way to Strawberry, the buggy trundled along the uneven road that you hadn’t been down in such a long time.  
“I’m sorry to hear about your father.” John said, “he was a kind man. Me and my boy, Jack helped him out with the lambing just this spring gone by.”

“Thank you... “ you replied.  
You felt guilty that you hadn’t been there to help; once upon a time it would have been you to help with the lambing though you remembered being squeamish at the sight when you were younger. You weren't no rancher, at least you thought you weren't. As soon as you had reached eighteen, you had left home in search of a better life and more money than what a dairy could get you. You’d headed for the bright lights if Saint Denis, not only was it as far away from the ranch you’d grown up on physically but in every other sense. The people of Saint Denis were nothing like those of Strawberry or the surrounding areas and you liked that. 

You never thought you'd be going back like this but of course you had known your daddy couldn't keep on at it forever. You were the sole benefactor of the ranch and everything he had worked for his entire life… Which wasn’t a lot but it was enough for you to be able to leave your job in Saint Denis and come back home.

_Home._

It felt alien. Yet as you neared Strawberry, nothing had changed that you could see. All the buildings and the people… Everything looked the way it had the day you had left.

When you reached the Strawberry hotel, Mr Marston stopped the buggy.  
“Here we are. I wish I could extend my hospitality to you more but I have to get home. I got my boy and my wife and my brother… He ain’t a well man and I need to help take care of him... We own the stables just outside o’ Strawberry, maybe when you’re settled in you could stop by?”  
“I’d like that very much. You’ve been very kind, thank you Mr Marston.”  
You got down from the buggy and so did he, he helped you with your luggage again before tipping his hat to you, bidding you good night and riding away.

The hotel was warm, walls were deep burgundy and a large fire was cracking in the main room, casting large, looming shadows. You weren’t keen on the taxidermied animals that were displayed everywhere, a buck, a mountain lion and most prominently a large grizzly bear that stood behind the main doors, staged reared on its hind legs with a mean look on its face.

The clerk was friendly enough and luckily there was a room available for you.  
“You came from Saint Denis, you say?” The clerk asked as he helped you upstairs with your luggage and showed you to your room. “That must have been one hell of a journey. Why don’t I get a bath ready for you?”  
“Sounds good,” you smiled.

The bath was hot and just what you needed after a long day’s travel. Once cleaned and dressed, you headed back downstairs to see if the hotel offered food. The clerk told you they did and you ordered and waited towards the back of the main room which now had candles on every table.

Towards the front of the room were two well dressed women sitting across from each other on plush sofas smoking and talking.  
“You tell me then, Willamina - What _did_ Mr Jones see when he was out night fishin’ at Owanjila Lake?” One said a little hotly to the other.  
The one called Willamina laughed, “Mr Jones was three sheets to the wind, Francesca. He probably saw a wild boar or a buck and tried to save face when he came tearin’ back into town, scared like a little kid to his momma! What was it he said? Eight feet tall? Red eyes? Claws as long as butcher knives?!”  
Francesca bristled, “well, you won’t catch me going into the woods on my own, that’s for sure!”

“And rightly so, Miss Alehart,” came a man's drawling voice.

You’d been looking away, staring at the front of a newspaper that had been left on the table pretending to read it but really, listening in on their conversation but now you looked up.  
A man you couldn’t say you’d noticed had joined them, hovering by the sofas. He was tall, dressed in black aside from his hat which was cream, maybe in his early forties and had scraggly blond hair. 

“You shouldn't go into them woods without precautions.” He told Francesca and Willamina, speaking each syllable of the word precautions quite deliberately as he reached down to his gun belt and drew his revolver quickly, aiming at the taxidermied bear in the foyer and mimed shooting it, “ya never know what's a-lurkin' out there… waitin’ for you…”

“Oh Mr Bell!” Willamina exclaimed, “don’t be so dramatic.”  
“Oh I ain’t being dramatic,” Mr Bell replied, his voice low and almost taking on a sultry tone. “The things I’ve seen out there,” he said gesturing to the door of the hotel, “why... It would make your blood run cold. O’ course, I could always help keep you safe… if you ever needed protection’.”

You could feel the atmosphere turning very awkward very quickly. You glanced over again. The two women had gotten to their feet  
“We’ll let you know if we ever need a man of your _specimen_ to protect us, Mr Bell. Good evening.” Willamina said coldly. With that, they left the hotel. 

Mr Bell didn’t seem too concerned and chuckled to himself. You were aware of his icy blue eyes on you from under the brim of his hat but you ignored him. At that moment, the clerk appeared with your dinner and you made small talk with him to keep Mr Bell at bay.

****

The next morning you took the stagecoach to the ranch where you were due to meet Kieran Duffy, the ranch hand who had been helping your daddy out over the last few years. It felt strange coming back to the ranch after all this time. You remembered the trail as if it were only last week that you had ridden it, even some of the trees seemed the same and the way the trail dipped here and there had a comforting familiarity about it.

The stagecoach pulled up to the mouth of the ranch and Kieran almost ran out to greet you. He was a skinny man, with wide, light eyes peering out beneath the wide brim of his hat.  
He shook your hand enthusiastically, “your daddy was always talkin’ bout you. It’s a shame you didn’t get to be with him in the end… proud man your daddy, didn’t even want to accept my help even when he couldn’t walk but three steps without needin’ to rest!”

Maybe Kieran could see that he’d been a little insensitive because his eyes widened further still. “I… I uh… He was peaceful at the end.”  
The doctor had told you that much. You smiled weakly at Kieran, aware that it may come off as more of a grimace. He did his best to smile back.  
“Why don’t I show you round? Must have changed a bit since you was last here.”

It hadn’t, it really hadn’t. The house and barn still looked the same, even down to the same white paint peeling from the exterior.  
Kieran showed you the animals, sheep and a few dairy cows and around the back were chickens. "Mr Watson Jr from the general store comes by on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays to collect eggs and milk,” Kieran explained.

By the side of the house was a small stable with a couple of horses inside, a palomino morgan named Cash and a black and white appaloosa called Domino.  
“They’re both fine horses. Cash is better for shorter distances but Domino is better for longer hauls and doesn't scare so easily,” Kieran said, patting them both fondly on the muzzle before giving each a sugar cube. 

Sat on the porch was a fawn coloured chesapeake bay retriever who perked up when it saw Kieran approach.  
“This is Bran, he’s real good at keepin’ foxes and greedy coyotes away from the chickens.” Bran barked playfully at this, as if he understood what Kieran was saying. Kieran leaned down to scratch the dog behind the ear before looking back up at you and swallowing, “uh… I... Maybe you’d wanna take a look in the house by yourself?”  
You nodded at him. “Thank you, Mr Duffy.”

That smell. The scent of home knocked all the air out of your lungs and filled you from top to bottom and edge to edge. Autumn leaves, wood shavings, something warm that you couldn’t quite place. Home. Your home. The home you had grown up in and then eventually left.

It was silent inside. Still. You could hear the clock ticking in the kitchen. Outside Bran barked again.  
You felt comforted yet also like you shouldn’t be there, like a trespasser. Your fingertips glided along the wooden bannister as you ascended the stairs and looked in your old bedroom. A knot formed in your chest when you saw that it had been left exactly the way it had been when you left for Saint Denis almost six year ago. Your bed was freshly made, as if it had been expecting you to come back some day. And now you had. 

You swallowed as you crept back down the corridor and towards your parents room; the room the doctor had informed you that daddy had passed in and the same room mama had passed in eleven years prior to that. For one fleeting second, you thought, maybe you would die in here too. You shook the thought away. Silly. 

The windows of the bedroom were open and the cold breeze ripped through the room so much so that you shivered. Folding your arms across your chest, you went back downstairs and outside to Kieran who offered to help you unpack.

You soon discovered that Kieran Duffy was a kind and sweet man. He lived just outside of Strawberry with his wife. He talked about her a lot, real proud of her, said her name was Mary-Beth and that she wrote novels. You were glad of his chatter, the noise filled the house and it felt less empty. Soon enough however, the night was drawing in again and he told you he had to head home.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said, an element of a question in the statement, “that is if you still need me to help out with the animals and such?”  
“Mr Duffy, what I know about caring for these animals can be written on a cigarette box. Of course I want you to come back tomorrow!”  
Kieran’s boyish face lit up and he smiled, “then I’ll be here bright and early. Good night.” 

Kieran mounted his own horse, a flaxen Tennessee Walker and trotted down the path of the ranch and into the woods out of sight.

You managed to get a fire going in hearth in the living room, the crackling was comforting and reminded you of when you were little; you’d sit on daddy’s knee while mama embroidered and he would read to you - all sorts of stories about princesses and princes, about magical fairies or witches and people who lived on the other side of the world who spoke completely different languages. When you settled yourself in front of the fire, Bran padded over and lay down. He gave a big sigh and fell asleep. You smiled, “me too, boy, ” you said to him quietly, “me too.” **** Maybe you’d become too accustomed to the city. The wheels of wagons and horses hooves clattering on stone paths, people shouting and calling to each other and the whistle departing trains was something you could, and regularly did, sleep through but the silence of the woods was too loud. Eerie and almost frightening. You tossed and turned in your old bed, unable to drift off into a sleep that lasted more than fifteen minutes. Outside you could hear elks crying and the creaking of the trees that swayed in the wind. Animals chirped and screamed and you were reminded of those times that you were afraid as a child. You used to go into your parents room and whimper, “I’m scared..!” Your mama would laugh, _“don’t be silly, sweet thing. You’re safe in here with mama and daddy.”_ She’d send you back to your room and you’d curl up under your blanket with your eyes squeezed tight shut, somehow the sounds from outside were louder than before. But you knew your mother must be right, she always was. You were safe inside. 

It was around three o’clock in the morning when you awoke to a sound. This time it was different. It wasn’t just the scurrying of an opossum or a racoon, not even a coyote. You found yourself compelled to swing your legs out of bed, bare feet found the cold wooden floor and you walked across the room to look out of the window so you could see the rest of the ranch. 

The animals were in the barn so the fields were empty. You could see the fence and the opening of the ranch, you could just make out the trail past that but the looming trees beyond that made it impossible for you to make out anything else. Maybe a flicker between the branches but maybe that was your eyes. You were tired.

You couldn’t hear the noise now, wasn’t even sure what you had thought you might see. Maybe a fox or even a wolf. You remembered there being all sorts of animals when you were younger, you’d even seen a bear running across one of the fields early one morning after daddy forgot to take in some honey mama had ordered from the general store. 

Maybe you’d dreamed it. It had been a long few days. You lay back down but didn’t sleep until the sun began to filter its way through the window.

****

Kieran was a great help. You had milked the cows before but even then it was something your daddy and the ranch hands dealt with more than you.  
You collected the eggs and fed the chickens while Kieran milked the cows and mucked out the barn. You felt bad but he said he didn’t mind, it’s good honest work and the barn wouldn’t muck itself. You supposed he was right.

“Say, Mr Duffy,” you said to him once he was done and the pair of you sat on the porch together drinking lemonade that you had made that morning for lack of being able to sleep, “you said Bran took care of the foxes, right?”  
“He sure does,” Kieran replied.  
“Just foxes?”  
Kieran half shrugged, half nodded, “sometimes coyotes. He had a cougar once but I think that was a fluke… He’s good with pests, too. Rats and the like.”  
“Ever anything… bigger?” You asked cautiously.  
Kieran thought for a moment, “I can’t say so.” His large eyes met yours, “you worried about the animals at night?” He asked, “'cause that barn is secure, I swear it. Mr Marston from the stables and his brother came and did a fine job with it. It was half fallen down before then!”  
You nodded.  
“Well it's comin’ into winter soon,” Kieran said thoughtfully, “so yer won’t have to worry so much ‘bout the likes of bears - not that you see ‘em that often no more down this way. All these new ranches and houses goin’ up... The bears have gone further into the mountains. They’s more scared of us than we is o’ them.” 

You nodded. You supposed that much was probably true. You also supposed that you had just been tired the night before.

Even so, it didn’t stop you from taking daddy’s old rifle down from above the fireplace. It was rusted and looked a little worse for wear. You’d never shot a gun before, never really had to but maybe it would give you peace of mind to have a gun ready. Just in case.

The next day, you rode Cash into Strawberry, your daddy’s rifle stowed on the side of Cash’s saddle. You'd forgotten how pretty of a town Strawberry was, like something drawn on a postcard.  
You hitched Cash outside the general store, you remembered coming here with your mama when you were younger and buying the groceries. The store had been run by an old man named Mr Watson and sure enough when you entered the store he was standing behind the counter, like he had never left. To say you were surprised to see him was an understatement; he had seemed impossibly old when you still lived in Strawberry and now he seemed even older.

He was speaking to another man who stood at the counter, “here’s everythin’ you ordered Mr Morgan. It’s good to see you out and about again, you feelin’ better now?”  
My Morgan, who still had his back to you, shifted awkwardly; he was a tall man, his back and shoulders broad, you could see that he wore his sandy coloured hair long.  
“Yeah,” he replied gruffly.  
“And how’s the rest of the family? Mr and Mrs Marston? And little Jack?” Mr Watson asked, smiling kindly at Mr Morgan.  
“Fine.” Mr Morgan replied rather bluntly.  
“Well you take care now,” Mr Watson said as he handed Mr Morgan his items, “come back soon, I do enjoy our chats.”

Mr Morgan permitted himself a laugh at this, short and more of a bark. The effort made him cough, though. He turned from Mr Watson, covering his mouth as he coughed. It sounded bad and you found yourself wincing as a visceral reaction. His eyes met yours, brightest blue, like the skies of your childhood summers. He was handsome enough, his features angular yet not unapproachable. 

“‘Scuse me,” he apologised to you, not making eye contact and moved away from the counter.  
Mr Watson greeted you then his eyes widened, “my my! Is that who I think it is? Last time I saw you… Well it’s been years!” He beamed at you, “you back to take over the ranch?” He asked and you nodded. “I am so sorry ‘bout your daddy. Fine man, he was. He’ll be sorely missed.”  
“Thank you, Mr Watson.”  
“What can I do for you?”  
“I was hoping you could help me with this…” You put the rifle on the counter. “It belonged to daddy, I think it’s pretty old but I just need it to shoot.”  
Mr Watson’s white eyebrows shot up to his hairline, “my word,” he chuckled, “I don’t think I’ve seen one of these since the war. Sure don’t make ‘em like they used to! You’re right, it certainly is an old rifle indeed… I don’t think I stock the cartridges for this particular model any more, I’m afraid.”  
You sighed.  
“You could always try the gunsmith over in Valentine,” Mr Watson suggested.  
Valentine was at least the best part of a day’s ride away. It seemed like an awfully long way to go in the hope that the gunsmith there _might_ have the right cartridges for daddy’s old rifle…

“Sorry, I couldn’t help overhearin’...” It was Mr Morgan, he had been checking through the parcel Mr Watson had handed him. You turned to look at him, able to search his face now. His complexion was ashen and while his eyes were certainly striking, they were also bleary. He looked exhausted. “Can I see the rifle? I might have what you need.  
You passed the rifle to Mr Morgan who inspected it. “Could do with some cleanin’,” he muttered to himself, “but it ain’t in too bad condition…” His voice was low and rough but has a strange kind of softness to it.

He looked up at you, eyes an arresting contrast to his pallid skin. “I reckon I might have some cartridges lyin’ ‘round if you want ‘em?”  
“Really? That’d be mighty helpful of you.”  
“I’d be glad to help you out. Your daddy was a good man. I’m Arthur Morgan by the way.”  
He extended his hand and you shook it, introducing yourself.  
“I got a few errands to run but I could always stop by the ranch this afternoon if that’s ok with you?” Arthur suggested.  
“I’d really appreciate that, thank you Mr Morgan.”  
He smiled at you now and his face changed, he looked lighter, younger, eyes crinkled at the corners. You smiled back.  
“Then I’ll see you this afternoon.” 

You picked up a few things from the store before leaving. Once outside you packed Cash’s saddle bags and fed him a carrot in preparation for the ride back to the ranch.

“Didn't I see you in the hotel the other night?”  
The voice made you start and you couldn’t help but gasp and recoil away at the man who stood behind you; he had blood slicked all over his hands, down his jacket and even some flecks on his face. You recognised the face, the ice blue eyes and the straw-like blond hair.

“Didn’t mean t’ startle ya. The name’s Micah Bell, I was in the hotel the other night and remember seein’ ya. You takin’ over the White Bison ranch?”  
You nodded hesitantly.  
“I’m sorry.” Micah Bell said though he didn’t sound the least bit apologetic, “I’ve been out huntin’ y’see," gesturing to the blood all over him. “That’s the game, huntin’. You saw the bear in the hotel foyer? I killed that one. Supply almost all the meat here in Strawberry, too.”  
You nodded again, not sure what to say to him. You unhitched Cash and began to walk him away from the store, towards the north exit of Strawberry. Micah followed.

“So you’re up at White Bison Ranch, huh?” He asked you, speeding up to match your pace.  
You nodded a third time.  
“How you findin’ it out there on your own?”  
Your brows knitted together slightly into a frown, “just fine.” You replied a little bluntly.  
“I’m only askin’ because there’s been a few people round these parts sayin’ that there’s something livin’ in the woods. Something that ain’t no animal.”  
Your frown grew deeper. “Not an animal..?” You repeated almost to yourself rather than Micah.  
“O’ course, I don’t believe that,” Micah chuckled, “you gotta be insane if you think there’s some beast runnin’ around in these woods. Probably a grizzly or a big cat and I’m gonna be there to get it.”

You stopped a little past the sheriff’s office and looked back at Micah. His eyes were piercing and you couldn’t maintain eye contact with him, feeling like he was looking right through you.

“So what’s the fuss about a bear or a big cat?” You asked, raising an eyebrow at Micah. “There’s been predators out in the woods ever since I was a kid and even since before then… What’s so different now?”

Micah’s lips twisted into a smirk, as if he had been waiting for you to ask that. “Real weird things been happenin’.” He said, a tinge of excitement to his tone now, “first it was animals that started goin’ missin’ a few years back - a chicken here and there or maybe a family dog and everyone just assumed it was coyotes. Then some little housewife over past Diablo Ridge said she saw something a-sneakin’ into the barn one night, took her husband’s shotgun and went to see what it was… She swore it was a monster, at least eight feet tall and covered in thick black hair with glowing red eyes.” Micah laughed at the expression on your face. “Horse shit, of course! But since then, everyone wants to see this creature. Plenty of people claimin’ they have but I’ll believe it when I see it stuffed and mounted on my wall.”

“Well it’s been nice talking to you, Mr Bell.” You lied as you pulled yourself up into Cash’s saddle. “I have to be heading back now.”  
Micah’s smirk hadn’t faltered throughout your entire conversation. “If you ever get lonely up there, you can always come and find me.” He said, “or if you just want someone who knows how to handle a gun.”  
You hesitated before answering. “I’ll bear that in mind, Mr Bell.”

You rode Cash at a leisurely pace, not wanting to rush back because you wanted to think about what Micah Bell had said to you. You were familiar with people in town gossiping, wild stories spinning out of control like Chinese whispers, usually cautionary tales to stop children wandering too far from their mothers or going into the woods alone. You felt better knowing that Mr Morgan would be coming along later with the rifle cartridges.

Kieran was taking a break when you got back. He stood up when he saw you coming up to the house where he was sitting on the steps eating a sandwich Mary-Beth had no doubt made for him. He waved enthusiastically at you.  
“How was town?” He asked you, helping you unload Cash.  
“It was… Interesting.”  
Kieran laughed, “Strawberry? Interestin’?”  
You laughed too and carried the groceries into the house with Kieran behind you. He helped you put things away. “Oh!” You started as you remembered, “Mr Morgan will be coming later on today.”  
“Arthur Morgan?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Kinda… Surly lookin’ feller?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Hmm.”

You turned to look at Kieran who was looking thoughtfully at the can of beans in his hand.  
“Is… Is Mr Morgan… Bad?” You asked, feeling a bit silly to ask such a childish question but you didn’t know how else to ask it.  
Kieran chuckled. “No. I don’t think so. He’s just… Not a sociable person, is all.”

You were certain that this was true but it wasn’t always fair to judge a book by it’s cover.

Kieran was busying himself with the horses in the stables while you were going through some of daddy’s things in the house. You had asked Kieran if there was anything you could do to help him but he seemed capable enough of doing it all on his own and if anything, you were more of a hindrance. 

It was around three o’clock when a silver dapple pinto Missouri foxtrotter made its way up the trail towards the house with Arthur Morgan astride it. You hadn’t forgotten about the handsome stranger who was coming to visit you and went out onto the porch to greet him. 

The afternoon had turned colder than the morning despite the sun being high in the sky and Arthur was now wearing a longline olive coloured woollen coat and around his neck, he wore a black neckerchief. As he greeted you, you could see his breath in front of him.  
“Mr Morgan, thank you for coming!”  
“Of course,” he said to you, he looked a little better than earlier. “Why don’t you show me that rifle again?”  
You guided Arthur back into the house, the rifle was lying on the kitchen table. Arthur set a heavy leather satchel down on the table with a clunk and took out a few things - some boxes of cartridges and gun oil.

“It needs a decent clean before you load it up and go shootin’ at muskrats,” Arthur joked and you smiled. He showed you how to take the gun apart and how to clean it. “It needs regular care, think of it like brushin’ your horse.” Arthur pushed the rifle towards you. “Why don’t you try.”  
You cleaned the gun carefully and Arthur watched you.  
“Heard you met my brother John the other day,” Arthur said.  
You hadn’t been sure from the conversation you overheard in the general store whether John was Arthur’s brother or not but this confirmed it. They didn’t look alike at all, John was much leaner compared to Arthur, even their faces were completely different - John had sharp features and suspicious eyes. Arthur, while not the conversationalist had a certain warmth about him that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“He really helped me out when I got here,” you replied, “took me to the hotel in Strawberry, otherwise I’d have been stuck at the station all night.”  
A smirk tugged at Arthur’s lips, “that sounds like John.” 

Once the gun was cleaned, Arthur showed you how to put it back together. “You know how to shoot this thing?”  
You felt a faint blush play across your face and you shook your head in response.  
Arthur laughed softly, “I got some time before I gotta get back… I could show you, if you wanted?”  
“Only if you’re sure.”  
There was that smile again. “I’m sure.”

The pair of you walked out to the fields in front of the house. 

“You gotta stand straight and hold steady.” Arthur told you, “you gotta focus, breath slow and always pull the trigger on empty lungs.”  
“You sound like a seasoned gunman, Mr Morgan.” You said, you felt your heart flutter a little. Were you _flirting_ with him?  
“Somethin’ like that,” Arthur murmured. “Here, let me show you how to hold it properly.” 

You spent the next hour or so shooting at a few empty bottles that you had found lying around as target practice. You took it in turns, Arthur demonstrating then your turn. By the end of it, you had hit maybe two bottles celebrating each time by hopping around with joy while Arthur chuckled.

The sky had turned a pumpkin orange and the sun had started to dip below the treeline, casting large ominous shadows across the field. Kieran had rounded up the remaining animals into the barn.

Arthur turned to you, blond hair looking golden now in the dwindling sunlight, “I really must be going now.”  
“Why- why don’t you stay for dinner?” You found yourself asking and you had no idea why. You had no plans for dinner but you were sure you could rustle something up.  
“That’s mighty kind of you but I don’t wanna intrude on your hospitality any longer.”  
“You wouldn’t be intruding at all, Mr Morgan. I insist.”  
“My brother will be expectin’ me back. I should go but thank you all the same.” Arthur said, his voice soft but also firm.

You suddenly felt very silly very quickly, a hot wave of embarrassment washed over you and you wished you could evaporate.  
“Well... Thank you for today. You’ve been very kind and I appreciate it.”

He tipped his hat to you and went to his horse. You watched him mount it, swiftly kick his heels into its side and trot away towards the trail.

You didn’t know how long Kieran had been watching but he smiled weakly at you as you walked dejectedly back towards the house with the gun slung under your arm.  
“He ain’t the most sociable,” Kieran said with a hint of _’I told you so’_ , “but he ain’t a bad man."  
You sighed. “Yeah, I guess.”  
Soon enough Kieran was telling you that it was time for him to get home, too and you were left to spend another sleepless night in the ranch house.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Its eyes glowed as they met yours, the bright moon reflected in them. It almost had the body of a man, broad and muscular but the skin was as black as charcoal and seemed to be covered with coarse hair. It had claws, too, just like the woman in the hotel had said._

_The beast in me  
Has had to learn to live with pain  
And how to shelter from the rain  
And in the twinkling of an eye  
Might have to be restrained_

****

That night in bed you heard noises outside again. It had to be your mind playing tricks on you, being back in your childhood home and suddenly having a ranch to take care of was a lot to take in. Not to mention the death of your father that you hadn’t really been able to process yet.

This time when the noise woke you, you were certain you had heard it and not dreamed it. At first you lay motionless in bed, not even allowing a breath to escape while you listened hard, so hard you could hear the clock in the kitchen downstairs ticking.

It must have only been a few moments but it felt like minutes passed, yet you didn’t hear anything again. 

_It’s all in your head. You’re just tired._

Then it was there again. Movement but something else. Low and guttural. Growling? No.  
You could have told yourself that it was Bran had you not let him in before you locked the house up for the night and watched him fall asleep in front of the fire.

The noise stopped again and you found yourself compelled to get out of bed and walk quietly to the window barely lifting your feet, afraid that whoever or _whatever_ was outside would hear you otherwise.

A mist had settled since Kieran had left. You were used to fog, most days back in Saint Denis a thick fog would settle over the swamps; some mornings you couldn’t even see your hand in front of your face.  
This mist was different, it seemed to roll serenely across the ground and almost dance between the trees. It wasn’t as dense or suffocating as the Saint Denis fog but it made it difficult to see nonetheless. 

The fields out front were empty. The ranch was shrouded in darkness and that darkness scared you, reminded you of when you were small and would look out of this very same window and you were certain you’d see creatures flitting between the trees, bright eyes looking back up at you, always worse in the autumn and winter months, when the night drew in heavy and fast.  
You remember how, after church some of the other kids would talk about shapeshifting creatures that hid in the woods and could mimic your mama’s voice to lure you away so they could eat you. They would talk about witches who would turn you into a toad or a mouse...If they could catch you.

_Childish stuff. Stupid stuff._

Tonight, you saw nothing out of the window. Of course you didn’t. You thought of the rifle on the kitchen table but you didn’t hear the noise again so you went back to bed and enveloped by silence, drifted into an uneasy sleep.

****

The next morning you woke relatively early, washed and dressed yourself, ate oats for breakfast and let Bran who had been scratching at the door outside. You watched the dog bound outside and run out of sight, your gaze fixed on where Arthur and you had stood the previous day and your mind replayed you asking him to stay for dinner. The embarrassment resurfaced and simmered.

But not for long.

You started to wash up your breakfast items in the sink and the sound of Bran barking incessantly floated its way to you from out back. You headed out to see what had caused it. Around the back of the house, some of the chickens seemed to have gotten out, running past you and clucking wildly. You reached the hen house and stopped, horrified. There was blood, feathers and entrails everywhere.

The blood had stained the dried grass, you could see what remained of some of the wretched creatures - necks snapped, and bodies left strewn across the yard. The hen house was half destroyed, the wooden roof crumpled like paper. Part of you thought that there was no way an animal had done this but what was the alternative? 

“Oh my lord..!” Kieran had come around the corner and stopped dead in his tracks at the sight before him. “Oh my lord!” He repeated louder.

You didn’t know what to say to him. 

“Did you see what happened?!”  
“I didn’t see anything,” you replied. You thought about telling him that you were so certain that you had heard something last night but for some reason, you didn’t. 

Kieran inspected the mess then stood back, rubbing his temples. “Don’t look like there’s no eggs to salvage...We’re gonna need to get some more chickens and a new hen house. I can start on the hen house as soon as we get the materials."

You weren’t much of a carpenter but you accompanied Kieran to Strawberry more because you didn’t know what you’d do if left at the ranch.

Your horses walked the trail together, the morning air was crisp and fresh and the sun was bright and balmy; it would have been nice if it hadn’t been for what had happened at the ranch. 

“It’s happened before.” Kieran said quite suddenly, “Maybe I forgot to close the hen house properly or somethin’ back then... But I ain’t never seen anythin’ _break_ a hen house like that…”  
“What do you suppose it was?” You asked Kieran as you rode the trail out into an open field that ran alongside the river.  
Kieran sighed, leaning back in the saddle of his horse, “I ain’t sure. Couldn’ta been a fox or a coyote… Maybe a wolf? But I don’t know… It about smashed the coop clean in two and I don’t know any kinda wolf that could do that…”

You’d been afraid Kieran might say that.

Once you got to Strawberry, Kieran disappeared into the general store. You waited for him outside not sure what to think about what had happened. Maybe it was a coincidence that you had heard the noises. Maybe it really had been a wolf. _A real big wolf…_

“Hey there!” The familiar voice made you look up, it was John Marston. Today he wore a grey longline coat, brown vest made out of some sort of animal skin and a black shirt underneath to shield him from the chill in the air.

“How are you settlin’ in at the ranch?” John asked.  
“It’s… Fine.” You replied sounding uncertain and John must have picked up on that, his lips forming an easy and handsome smile.  
John put his head to one side, “usually, when my wife says something’s fine… It means it ain’t.”  
Your face broke out into a smile too. “You got me there, Mr Marston. Something broke into the hen house and got at the chickens last night. Kinda shook me up.”  
“Ah shit. I’m sorry.”

As John said this, a woman appeared behind him. “Hi honey,” she said as she leaned up to peck him on his cheek. 

“Abigail, this is who I was tellin’ you about who’s taken over White Bison Ranch.” He then turned to you. “This is my wife Abigail.”  
Abigail reached out her hand and you shook it. She was pretty, that was for sure with large blue eyes, rosy cheeks and plump pink lips that smiled at you warmly.

“You were sayin’ you were sorry?” Abigail asked John.  
“Yeah,” John replied, “somethin’ got at the chickens at the ranch last night. Probably just a coyote though, right?”  
“Probably.” You agreed though you weren’t sure why. 

The colour seemed to have drained from Abigail's face and that hadn’t escaped you. John seemed to have changed too, shifting awkwardly as he stood before you at the foot of the stairs of the general store. 

There was a strained silence before John cleared his throat and said, “well, we have chickens, don’t we Abigail? I’m sure we wouldn’t miss a few if you wanted to come by and get some.”  
Abigail nodded too quickly. There was something _off_ about the pair of them but you didn’t know what it was. 

“That’s very kind. I could come by or send Mr Duffy over once we rebuild the hen house.”  
“We’d love to help out, right Abigail?” John said a little too loudly.  
“Y-eah, ‘course.” 

You watched dubiously as the pair marched away across the bridge, John with his arm firmly around Abigail’s waist guiding her and you thought about what you had overheard your first night at the hotel about a creature in the woods.

_“What was it he said? Eight feet tall? Red eyes? Claws as long as butcher knives?!”_

You thought about your encounter with Micah and what he had told you. 

_”“I’m only askin’ because there’s been a few people round these parts sayin’ that there’s something livin’ in the woods. Something that ain’t no animal.”_

But monsters and creatures weren't real. Feral dogs, hungry cougars and sneaky foxes were.

Kieran had ordered the materials that would arrive at the ranch within the week. Until then, you and Kieran returned to the ranch and spent the rest of the day doing the chores and cleaning up the mess from the night before. Kirean moved the remaining chickens into the barn that evening. 

“Might be best to leave Bran outside,” Kieran said thoughtfully before he was due to leave, “just in case... whatever it was comes back.”  
You agreed. Maybe it would make you feel better to have Bran outside at night. 

It had begun to rain while you ate dinner and you had tried to call Bran back inside, even lighting the fire that he seemed to like lying by so much but he wouldn’t come. You gave up after a while and went to bed. The sound of the rain against the windowpane of your bedroom window was soothing somehow. You slept soundly that night. 

The rain washed the blood from the chickens away leaving a fresh earthy smell when you went outside the next morning. Bran was a little wet and waiting to come inside.

You went to check the barn; it was still closed which was a relief but you saw that there were deep scratches on the door as if something had been trying to get inside…  
Maybe it had been Bran, you told yourself. It had rained all night and he probably had wanted somewhere to shelter. Right?

Kieran reacted how you expected him to. His face went whiter than snow and his eyes doubled in size. “Whatever it was has come back! You think it wants the sheep and cattle?!”  
You sighed, “I think it’s just Bran. I left him out last night like you said and it rained. If it really was that _thing_ , I reckon it’d have had the sheep, the cattle and Bran, too.”  
Kieran frowned while he thought about it, removing his hat to run a hand through his mousy hair. “‘Spose you’re right.”

You weren’t so sure but you hadn’t even been back at the ranch for a week yet and you didn’t want to be swept up with likes of spooky beings. You still had to sort through some of daddy’s old things and you still had to learn how to properly take care of the ranch and the animals.

Maybe it had been the good night's sleep but you felt more clarity now. You'd been swept away with all this gossip from the town and from the shock of daddy passing that you had almost believed that some creature was out lurking in the woods.

It had been a hungry animal and that was that.

You spent the rest of the day helping Kirean milk the cows and tend to the sheep. Later that afternoon you went to the river where you foraged for herbs and mushrooms. By the time you had come back, Kieran had set up some rabbit traps _(“easier than huntin’ ‘em with a rifle”)_ and was chopping firewood.

“You don’t have to do all of this for me, Mr Duffy,” you said, feeling embarrassed, following him to the log shed.  
“It ain’t no trouble,” Kieran told you cheerfully. He took some of the herbs you brought back and made special food for the horses. You sat by him and watched as he did so and for the first time since you had left Saint Denis, things felt normal. 

Kieran checked the traps before he left, there were two rabbits already. He said he’d take them home. “My wife makes an excellent rabbit stew. Why don’t you come over tomorrow night for dinner?”  
You beamed at him, “I’d love that, Mr Duffy.”

That night you left Bran outside again and had dinner by the fire. You’d found some of the story books daddy used to read to you and you found yourself leafing through them and smiling to yourself, remembering how things used to be.

You hadn’t had time to grieve yet. You hadn’t been close too daddy in the end but it didn’t mean you didn’t love him more than words could ever describe. Eventually, you must have fallen asleep because you were jolted awake by a sound. It was the sound of the book slipping out of your hand and landing with a dull thud on the floorboards. 

It had gotten completely dark outside now and the fire in the hearth was dying down. It was time to turn in for the night. 

Just as you reached the foot of the stairs, you heard something - Bran was barking again, much like he did that morning. A horrible wave of dread prickled at your skin. Part of you wanted to pretend you didn’t hear it but you couldn’t afford to lose more animals. 

_It’s a fox or a coyote or a wolf. It’s fine. Stop being stupid._

You strode to the kitchen and grabbed the rifle from the table. You’d shoot a few warning shots at whatever it was and hopefully that would do the trick. 

You wrenched the front door open, the dread had given way to a strange anger - maybe because all of this horse-crap about creatures had gotten in the way of your grief. You hadn’t moved back here for ghost stories or things that go bump in the night.

You went outside, it was raining again, lighter than last night. The cool rain made you shiver. It was dark, the only light coming from the ghostly moon above.  
Around the back where the hen house had been was empty. You checked the barn door but it was still locked firmly. 

Confused, you called for Bran who was still barking but you couldn’t see him out in the fields. You followed the noise, shouting and cursing the damn dog the whole way. Your bare feet were getting caked in mud as you stumbled blindly through the fields, scarcely able to see the hand in front of your face.

Right now you didn’t care if it was a fox or even a grizzly bear, you were losing your patience but you’d rather be losing your patience than your mind. 

The barking was coming from the entrance of the ranch and now you could see Bran standing facing out to the trail, his tail standing up on end, hackles raised. As you reached him he began to growl into the night. 

Your eyes adjusted to the darkness now and you followed what Bran was looking at.

You gasped loudly, bringing your hand to cover your mouth instinctively but it had seen you already.

It was hunched in the clearing, bigger than any coyote or wolf you had ever seen. It wasn’t a big cat or even a bear. It didn’t look like an animal at all… But neither did it look human. 

Its eyes glowed as they met yours, the bright moon reflected in them. It almost had the body of a man, broad and muscular but the skin was as black as charcoal and seemed to be covered with coarse hair. It had claws, too, just like the woman in the hotel had said.

Its face wasn’t that of man. If it weren’t for the body you’d have thought it a wolf; two dark ears and a muzzle just like a wolf, strong jaws and a thick mane of fur around his neck, trailing down to the torso.  
When it saw you it seemed to stop and then it stood like a man on its hind legs. It was tall. Taller than you, taller than anyone you’ve ever met, at least seven feet… Maybe more. It looked at you, you could see its hot breath coming out of it’s nose and mouth. 

Bran growled and this creature, half man and half wolf snarled back, showing fangs larger than the gators in the swamps outside of Saint Denis. Bran growled louder, baring his teeth as the creature began to move. 

You forgot everything Arthur Morgan had told you about how to fire the rifle. Fingers fumbling, you clumsily pointed the gun at the creature and pulled the trigger.  
The sound of the gun was like a crack of thunder that echoed off of the bare trees. The force of the gun made you stagger backwards a little and your ears rang, you could smell the black smoke filling your lungs as you felt the breath being knocked out of them from the recoil.

The bullet grazed the creature’s shoulder and it made a sound, a yelp like a dog that caught you off guard.

Had you made the wrong decision to shoot it? What if it charged? You readied the rifle again to take another shot but the creature turned away, running on all fours into the woods and out of sight.

You didn’t tell Kieran what had happened. You had scooped Bran up and ran back inside, locking the door and hiding under the covers in your room like you had when you were a child, afraid at night. You didn’t move, didn’t sleep until the sun came up the next morning.

If you didn’t tell Kieran, you could pretend it hadn’t happened at all.

“Mary-Beth is excited about you comin’ over for dinner,” Kieran told you while he milked the cows and you brushed them.  
“Hmm?” You said distractedly. You could still smell gunsmoke on you.  
“Dinner tonight,” Kieran repeated, “you ain’t forgotten have ya?”  
“Oh. No, of course not.” You lied. Of course you’d forgotten about it - you’d forgotten everything and all you could think about were the shining eyes and the large fangs of the thing in the woods. 

“Great. She’s so excited to meet you. It ain’t often we get new people round here. I told her you’d be comin’ home with me, jus’ in time for dinner.”

You tried to flash Kieran a breezy smile but failed. He didn’t ask you what was wrong but you knew he could tell you were different somehow.

He headed into town to pick up the materials that should have arrived at the general store today and you tagged along, not wanting to be left alone at the ranch. He chattered as usual on the ride into Strawberry but you didn’t talk back. 

Once you got to the general store, you dismounted Cash but Kieran reached out and put his hand on your shoulder.  
“Why don’t you go to the Marston’s stables?” He suggested. “Should get this hen house put together this afternoon so why don’t you go get us some chickens?  
“Sure.” You said.  
Kieran smiled weakly. “Meet ya back at the ranch later.”

You knew where the stables were, just a couple of minutes outside of Strawberry; they used to be owned by a pair of brothers if you remembered right. It looked the same as it always had, just like everything else in Strawberry; a pasture out front for horses to graze in a large stable then yard to the back with a house where the Marston family must live.

There didn’t seem to be anyone at the stables when you got there. The doors to the stables were open and you could see some horses inside and even hear the chickens out back. You went into the stable, taken by a stunning white horse who allowed you to pet its muzzle.

That's when you could hear talking. John and Abigail Marston. Hushed and urgent. 

“Abigail, there ain’t nothin’ I can do! I’m tryin’ my best. “  
“He’s _your_ brother, John!”  
“You don’t think I don’t know that? I don’t know what you want from me!”  
“Lord, I don’t know, John… I just… We can’t keep doin’ this.”  
“I know…. I know…”

You felt awkward listening into what was very obviously a private conversation so you followed the voices towards the back of the stables and out into a yard where the chickens were being kept. 

John’s voice had softened, “I know you’re mad, Abigail… But you’re right, he is my brother and I can’t just abandon him.”  
“Oh John….”

As you turned a corner, the pair came into sight, John was holding Abigail’s hand, and they stopped talking immediately, springing apart like a pair of teenagers caught kissing in an orchard.

“S-sorry.” You stammered, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks, “I didn’t mean to- I wasn’t snooping or anything. I just came about the chickens.” 

The pair looked shocked to see you. Abigail’s face went pale like it had the other day and John looked as if he had been caught stealing candies. He recovered quickly, however.  
“We weren’t expectin’ ya so soon.”  
“Sorry.” You repeated.

“We got plenty of chickens though, why don’t you come and have a look.” John guided you away from Abigail to look at the chickens in the coop.  
“I uh, I don’t know much about chickens, Mr Marston. Mr Duffy sent me, you see.”  
“Well we got plenty o’ hens for you.” John said, that smile was back again and it somehow soothed you.  
“We need about a dozen I’d say.” You told him and he nodded.  
“I can drop them over tomorrow.”  
“That'd be great.”

Kieran was right, he made easy work of the hen house and moved the remaining chickens into it before you both left for his house that overlooked Owanjila Lake. Kieran told you that it had always been a dream of Mary-Beth’s to get a cute house that overlooked the water, she said it gave her inspiration to write her stories.  
The house was cosy, everything you expected a home of a loving couple to be and so far removed from the quiet ranch house. Mary-Beth was welcoming - you had held out your hand but she had ignored it and hugged you. 

“It’s great to finally meet you!” She said excitedly, “Kieran’s told me so much about you.”  
“Mary-Beth…” Kieran muttered and she pulled out of the hug looking a little flustered.  
She cleared her throat, “Oh. Yeah… I’m real sorry for your loss.”  
You smiled at her, “thank you.” She was even more effervescent than Kieran had described her. She was pretty like one of those girls on the cigarette cards.

She ushered you into the small kitchen where there was a table already set for three. It smelled glorious and your stomach rumbled.  
Mary-Beth wasted no time in serving you rabbit stew with roasted potatoes. “I hope you’re hungry, “ she said, setting the plate down in front of you, “I’d love it if you told me about Saint Denis. I ain’t ever been but I’d love to - it looks so pretty in the photographs I’ve seen!”

It was nice to tell Mary-Beth about your little apartment back in Saint Denis. It wasn’t fancy in the slightest but it had been home for the last six years and you had to admit that you missed it.  
The conversation moved on to how Kieran and Mary-Beth met. It was sweet and exactly how you imagined it - Kieran had been working for Mary-Beth’s father, just casual farm hand work and the pair became close. At the time, Kieran couldn’t read so Mary-Beth offered to teach him when he finished work for the day. Kieran had never been super into reading, but he had been super into Mary-Beth. 

You drank and talked well into the evening and into the night. Once again, you felt like this was the closest to normality that you had been in almost a week.

When it was time to leave, Mary-Beth hung onto your arm, insisting that you stayed the night as it was far too late to ride back to the ranch now. You assured her that you’d be fine and that you’d intruded on her and Kieran enough for one day.  
Of course, Mary-Beth told you that was nonsense but she knew when she was beaten and let you go.

“Why don’t you take the day off tomorrow?” You said to Kieran ask he walked you to where Cash was hitched outside. You pulled your coat around you, it had gotten very cold in the night.  
“A-are you sure? I mean, I…” Kieran stammered but you laughed. It was so cold you could see the breath in front of you as you both spoke.  
“You’ll work yourself to death, Mr Duffy. It’s only one day, I promise I won’t set fire to the ranch by accident while you’re gone.”  
Kieran chuckled too now and you saddled up. 

“I know.” He conceded, “I just… I’m worried about whatever it was that came for the chickens comin’ back, is all.”  
You sighed and against your better judgement said, “it did come back.”  
“W-what?!” Kieran exclaimed, eyes large and fearful. He looked around at the house, worried that Mary-Beth would overhear. He lowered his voice now. “It came back?!”  
You nodded.  
“When?!”  
“Last night.”  
“Last night?!”  
“You gonna repeat everything I say, Mr Duffy?”  
Kieran blushed at this. “I just… I thought you’da told me, is all.”  
“I didn’t want to worry you. Besides, I shot it.”  
“Ya did?!” Kieran didn’t sound like he believed you. “Did- Did it die?”  
“No.” You didn’t tell Kieran that the bullet barely grazed it.  
“What was it anyway? A coyote?”  
“Not quite….”

Kieran didn’t look too happy, he frowned, his face aging as he did so. “Ok…” He muttered but he sounded uncertain.  
“Don’t worry, Mr Duffy.” You said gently, reaching down to pat him on the shoulder. “It’s taken care of. I’ll be going now. Thank your wife for such a lovely dinner.”  
Kieran’s eyes shone at the mention of Mary-Beth. “Thank you. Mary-Beth will be happy. We’d love you to come again.”  
“Good night, Mr Duffy.”

****

The alcohol made you warm and fuzzy as you squeezed your legs and guided Cash homeward. That warm and fuzzy feeling was soon lost as Cash trotted the trail from the lake back to the ranch. You knew the trail like the back of your hand, had ridden it hundreds of times since you were a kid but it took on a different feel at night; you almost didn’t recognise it, second guessing every twist and turn the trail took, the only light coming down from the moon that shone bright in the velvet black sky.

You took the path north of the lake that skirted around Mount Shan, the mountain looming ominously in the darkness. Every snap of a twig or rustle in the grass made you squeeze your thighs around Cash a little more and hold onto the reins tighter, urging him a little faster.

You felt relief as Cash turned onto the trail that ran along the shallow river and you knew you didn’t have far to go. You let out a sigh and smiled to yourself, thinking about the evening and how maybe life back at the ranch wouldn’t be so bad after all. The wind bristled the trees and greenery and you felt a shiver run the length of your spine. Your thoughts moved to the ranch house and how you wanted to get the fire going as soon as you got in to warm your feet up.

You were snapped back from the idea of the hearth because Cash was beginning to get agitated. He came to a standstill, snorting and stamping on the spot.  
You leaned over him, stroking his neck and hushing him, “hey, it’s ok. Come on now, we’re nearly home.” But it didn’t seem to help him, his eyes were wide and he whinnied. “What’s wr-” You started but couldn’t finish. 

You hadn’t seen it until now and you have no idea why but you followed Cash’s eyeline and caught a glimpse. Something moving among the tree line fast.

With your heart in your mouth, you kicked Cash, _"ya!"_ urging him along the trail towards home but whatever it was was fast, faster than Cash could ever be. Cash wouldn’t run though, his nostrils flared and he snorted again, shying away from the direction of home.

That’s when you heard it, the loud and unmistakable roar of a grizzly bear. It launched itself from the treeline and onto the trail before you, grunting and growling. You hadn’t seen a bear this close up before and for good reason. It was huge, jaws open wide as it roared to reveal it’s teeth.

Cash whinnied and neighed, he reared up onto his back legs and try as you might to hold on, you were thrown from the morgan onto the ground. You didn’t have time to register how it hurt as you scrambled to your hands and knees, the bear still clearly agitated and snapping its jaws. You remembered something your daddy had told you before when you had gone out hunting with him, to stay completely still if a bear attacked. At the time you had not been so sure as to whether this would work or not but right now, you had no choice; Cash had bolted and there was no way you were outrunning 600lb grizzly. 

So you cowered in the grass by the trail, doing your best not to move or even tremble. The bear stomped and snorted, growling at you. It must have been more a warning than anything, you must have frightened it but that didn’t mean that it wouldn’t attack. 

_"They’s more scared of us than we is o’ them."_ That’s what Kieran had said. Right now, you weren’t so sure of that. 

Suddenly there were quick footsteps approaching. For a moment you wondered whether Cash had come back but they were lighter and faster than that of a horse but definitely more heavy than a person. 

Something black shot past you, hurtling towards the bear at an inhuman speed. You recognised it instantly: the creature, the wolf-man, from the night before. 

It was almost as tall as the bear but leaner, it attacked using its claws and snarled as it did so. The bear must have been as shocked as you because it staggered backwards but then reared up on its hind legs, bellowing at the wolf-man. It took a swipe but the wolf-man was fast and nimble, able to duck like a boxer. 

You couldn’t watch the tangle of claws, fangs and fur, the bear shoving the wolf-man back with such force that it almost fell onto its back but it steadied itself with alarming grace. The noises were ungodly. It was all you could do to stop yourself from screaming or running, watching the scene fold out before you from behind your hands. 

The wolf-man swiped back but the bear was faster, slashing the creature across the chest. The wolf-man screeched in pain. It seemed to anger the wolf-man that now flew at the bear, it’s jaws snapping and connecting with the flesh of the bear’s neck. There was another struggle and eventually, the pair untangled. The bear backed away, clouds of white steam coming from its nose in the cold of the night as it panted hard. 

For a moment it looked as if it might charge the wolf-man but it didn’t. It headed back towards the trees and disappeared from sight.

The wolf-man watched it go then, threw its head back letting out a loud and long howl. You would have guessed it was in victory had it not sounded so eerily sorrowful that every hair on your body stood on end and you quivered. 

Then, the wolf-man turned to you. Certainly, it had saved you but what for? So that it could eat you rather than the bear eating you?

You could see it’s face better today. It looked canine for sure, like that of a wolf but… Not quite. Yes, its snout and fangs were like that of a wolf but it’s eyes were almost human… They didn’t reflect the moon tonight. No. They were blue. Like the skies of your childhood summers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 3 to follow tomorrow :D


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"It really was you..."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final part. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed tis short Halloween fic!

_God help the beast in me_

****

You were awoken by a loud knocking on the front door though at first you thought it was pounding from in your head - you felt awful. You couldn’t recall the last time you had drank so much whiskey - probably not since your good friend Josiah came to Saint Denis to visit you and the pair of you were so drunk that you were kicked out of the vaudeville show. 

You curled up under the blanket of your bed with your eyes closed hoping that if you didn’t answer the door, it might just stop.

It didn’t of course and you went downstairs eventually, squinting in the daylight. The clock in the kitchen said that it was already gone eleven. You had slept so soundly that you could have kidded yourself that last night hadn’t happened. But it had. You knew it had. 

When you opened the front door, Micah Bell was leaning languidly against the door frame. 

“Mr Bell?” You said, trying to sound less confused but also like you hadn’t just woken up.  
“Late night, was it?” He asked you with a dark smirk as his eyes drank you in.  
“Something like that…” You muttered. You looked back up at him, he wasn’t covered in blood this morning, you could see his features better - square and severe. His piercing eyes met yours like he knew you were studying him but he was enjoying it. His rifle was slung over his shoulder and he wore a thick black leather jacket.

“I ran into Mr Duffy this mornin’ and he told me that you might be havin’ some... _cryptid_ trouble.” Micah said, that smirk never once leaving his lips.  
“He did, did he?” You asked, raising your eyebrow. Inside your stomach twisted. You made a mental note to have words with Kieran when he came back to work tomorrow.

“Somethin’ got your chickens, right? I heard Abigail Marston talkin’ ‘bout it. And now Mr Duffy tells me that it came back the other night.”

You swallowed before answering, “it did. But I shot at it. Was just a coyote or something.”  
Micah chuckled, light eyes twinkling, “ _or something…_ ” He purred. He shifted so that he was leaning into you. “Ain’t no shame in askin’ for help.” He said, his voice remained low, as always and he spoke as deliberately and huskily as ever. It was oddly appealing yet repulsive at the same time.

“I appreciate you coming out all this way, Mr Bell but I fear you’ve had a wasted journey. I don’t need any help.”  
It was Micah’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Hmm.” His smirk wavered only for a second. “City folk sure are different...” he mused, “sure, you shot at… whatever it really was. An’ it’ll be back. Mark my words.” His voice boarded on menacing and you didn’t like it one bit.  
“Good day, Mr Bell.” You said abruptly and closed the door on him quickly.

He didn’t leave immediately. You heard him chuckle to himself as he descended the steps of the porch then mounted up his jet black horse. You waited until the sound of hooves were in the distance before you moved away from the door again, your heart slowing to its usual pace. 

You were glad Kieran hadn’t come in today, not only because of how you would throttle him for asking Micah to come and protect you but also because you didn’t want to tell him about what had happened on the journey home. 

You weren’t about to tell Kieran that you had encountered a wolf-man out in the woods twice and on the second occasion it had saved you from a grizzly bear. And you definitely weren’t about to tell Kieran that the wolf-man seemed to have the dazzling blue eyes of handsome Arthur Morgan. He probably would have had you institutionalised. 

But there was no mistaking what you saw. You had sobered up in the cold night air and you recognised him… Even if it wasn’t _him._

When the creature, the wolf-man, had stopped and looked at you, you didn’t feel afraid anymore. It wasn’t going to hurt you and you could feel that somehow, in a way you didn’t understand.  
You stared into those blue eyes and time seemed to stop. You couldn’t hear the water from the river or the rustle of the leaves. Somehow, he seemed to be telling you something. He looked pained. He looked sad. 

_Maybe you should be institutionalised…._

You tried to distract yourself for the rest of the day, tending the animals and moving a lot of stuff out of the house that you intended to get rid of. You found a catalogue that Kieran had left lying around and flipped through it, thinking about giving the ranch a makeover, it could at least do with a lick of paint…

It was around two o’clock when the sound of a cart coming up the path made you start and you got to your feet. When you answered the door, John Marston stood where Micah Bell had only a few hours previous. 

“How are you?” He greeted with a tip of his hat.  
“I’m well, and you, Mr Marston?”  
“Jus’ peachy,” he replied cheerfully, flashing you that handsome smile of his. He gestured out to the cart parked out front, “we brought the hens. A dozen, like you asked. All good for layin’ and have a good temperament.”  
“We?” You repeated.  
“Yeah, brought my brother Arthur along with me. You met him the other day I believe.”  
“Yeah,” you said quietly, almost to yourself, “we’ve met.”  
“He ain’t very well,” John said, lowering his voice, glancing back at the cart where you could now see Arthur unloading the chickens who were in wire cages, “the fresh air will do him good.” 

Your gaze flickered back to John. _Did he know?_ When you had first met John Marston he had said that Arthur wasn’t “a well man.” You’d thought nothing of it. People got sick, it was the way of the world but this… This wasn’t a sickness. At least not a normal one. 

Suddenly it clicked in your head. The argument between John and Abigail at the stable the day before about Arthur that you had been so embarrassed about being caught overhearing that you hadn’t thought about what it could possibly mean…

“Everythin’ alright?” John asked you and your eyes met his. They looked clear today, a shining gold with a hint of concern.  
“Of course.” You lied, doing your best to smile up at him.

You could almost hear your mother’s voice chiding you: _You’re insane. That thing in the woods wasn’t John Marston’s brother. It was grief mixed with the copious amounts of whiskey you had drank at the Duffy’s house. Now stop with this nonsense._

You guided John to the back of the house where there was a small fenced off yard - something else Kieran had had to fix- and inside was the coop that Kieran had put together the day before. Arthur followed with the chickens. He seemed to be avoiding you, his hat pulled low, maybe to block out the harsh autumn sunlight, maybe to avoid your gaze.

Arthur looked ill, more ill than you had seen anyone for a long time. When you were able to catch a glimpse of him, you could see that his skin was so pale that it looked almost transparent. You could hear his chest rattle as he breathed and today he was layered up even more despite the sun providing a balmy warmth. 

John helped Arthur bring some of the chickens to the back yard while you loitered uselessly, feeling like a spare part. Arthur was busying himself letting the chickens out so that they could run free and explore their new home.

“You’ll be alright to finish up here, right?” John called to him as Arthur brought the last cage of chickens from the cart.  
“Huh?”  
“I gotta take a few things over to the Downes’ ranch. I’ll meet you back at home later.”  
Arthur didn’t look best pleased. You saw his lips pulled taut but he didn’t say anything else to John, just nodded. John bid you farewell and left on the cart.  
Arthur continued to release the remainder of the chickens in silence.  
You cleared your throat, “it’s very kind of you to help out.”  
Arthur shrugged but didn’t say anything. You didn’t know what to say to him. It could have been comical if it hadn’t been so darned awkward. 

_You’re making it awkward. Kieran said he wasn’t the most sociable, it has nothing to do with whatever you thought you saw last night._

You sighed at this; deep down you knew you must be right. “I’ll go inside and get you what you’re owed.”  
Arthur nodded, “thank you,” he said. It didn’t escape you that his voice seemed strained and raspy. 

Once inside, you could hear Arthur coughing again like in the general store, it was an awful barking cough that you could hear from inside as plainly as if he were next to you.

“Are you ok?” You asked him, instinctively reaching for him when you went back out. He was leant against the side of the house now, using the wall to support himself.

“I-I’m fine,” he gasped but he certainly didn’t look or sound it. You could see his face better now, the skin devoid of all colour, glistening with cold sweat.

“Here, let me get you inside,” you said, taking him by the elbow.  
“N-no!” He tried to protest, pulling away but his chest shuddered and he coughed in a way that sounded tearingly painful. He retched, the veins in his neck protruding and he brought up black bile from his lungs. 

“Mr Morgan, please!” You cried, trying not to sound frightened. He was weak when you put your arm around him to support him into the house, despite that he was too heavy for you to take him upstairs to lie down on the bed for him to rest so you let him collapse into the chair in front of the hearth. 

He coughed so much that the colour returned to his cheeks in the form of bright red and his eyes were glassy and bloodshot. He was panting. When you removed his hat and saw that more sweat had broken out along his hairline yet he shivered. He showed every sign of having a fever but you weren’t sure what had brought it on and so suddenly, too. 

“It’s ok,” you found yourself saying gently to him. You weren’t sure if he heard or not. You wished Kieran was here now so that he could send for a doctor. Maybe you could go after John? He couldn’t have gotten too far? But what good would it do?

You went to the kitchen and picked up a cloth dousing it in cold water which you intended to use to soothe Arthur’s fever. When you returned to him, Arthur’s cough had subsided a little. His breathing was still laboured as you pressed the cloth to the sweat slicked skin of his neck then down to the base of his throat. He pulled at his shirt collar to give himself some relief and then you saw it.

From Arthur’s shoulder was a slash, claw marks for sure, red and painful, exactly where the ones the bear had left on the wolf-man. 

****

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, making your entire body pulse.  
With fingers shaking, you had unbuttoned his shirt further, slipping the thick sky blue material off of his shoulder to reveal the gunshot wound you had inflicted two nights previous. Your fingers ghosted it, still raw and Arthur let out a hiss and he squirmed beneath your touch.

“It… It really was you.”  
His bright blue eyes opened at the sound of your voice but he looked as though he couldn’t focus on you.  
“It was you who I saw in the woods, wasn’t it?” You asked him, voice gentle for some reason.  
His chest heaved with effort, brow furrowed. Slowly, he nodded.  
“And last night… You saved me.”  
He nodded again. His chapped lips formed a weak smile at you.  
“But why..?”  
He couldn’t answer, chest rattling again and he coughed, this time it sounded dull.  
"Thank you, Mr Morgan... If you can get up, I can get you to bed so you can rest for a short bit.”

You half expected him to protest but he didn't, didn't look like he had the strength. He was able to stand with your help and you managed to get him up the creaking staircase. You guided him into your parents bedroom and let him lie on the bed. He made a soft, contented sound as he let his eyes close and then slept.

At first you watched him, Arthur Morgan, the wolf-man, curled up under a blanket sleeping soundly as if nothing had ever happened. 

The night drew in and you went back downstairs but Arthur didn't wake; you didn't dare rouse him, not even to eat dinner so you left some in the pot for him.

You settled down on the chair in front of the fire like you seemed to do every night now and tried to read. The letters danced across the page though and you found yourself reading words without actually reading them. 

You were reliving the scene of the bear and Arthur fighting, how Arthur had grappled with the bear with such grace. You thought of the first time you had seen him _like that_. He hadn’t growled at _you_ , he’d growled back at Bran and last night, he had fought the bear then took off, leaving you unharmed. You couldn’t quite understand how you had known that he wouldn’t harm you but somehow you had.

Before you knew it, you had fallen asleep. You knew that because a pounding woke up just like this morning. You wondered whether it was Micah again. You prepared to wrench the door open and tell him to quit mithering you. But it wasn't Micah Bell at all, it was John Marston. It was getting dark outside but you had no trouble in recognising him however, he looked different now, he wasn’t smiling at you, he looked anxious.

You realised with a grounding thump how insensitive you had been. You should have gotten word to John that Arthur was here; Arthur wasn’t well and John must have been worried when he didn’t return to the stables for dinner.

“Is he here?” John asked, his voice urgent, eyes no longer shimmering but wide and fearful.  
“Y-es!” You replied, sounding scared yourself, taken aback at John’s demeanor. “He… He took ill in the yard so I brought him inside to rest. He’s upstairs.”  
John’s eyes widened more. “I need to take him home now.” He hadn’t shouted but the firmness in his voice was alarming so you let him push past you and upstairs. You followed nervously.  
“I-I’m sorry, Mr Marston. He was just so unwell, I didn’t know what else to do. I should have sent for you.”  
It was as if John couldn’t hear you as he entered your parents bedroom cautiously.  
“Arthur?”

You stood in the doorway, almost hiding behind him. The bedroom was darkened, the only light coming from the full moon outside but you could see that Arthur was hunched over on the bed; you could see his shoulder blades jutting through the material of his shirt, he wasn’t coughing any more but he made a noise, a low guttural growl.

“Arthur!” John exclaimed, rushing to his brother’s side.  
“He-he wasn’t like this earlier..!” 

Arthur’s body twisted and contorted on the bed, he made noises you’d never heard a person make before, gurgling, snarling and hissing like something possessed. His eyes had changed, become dark and soulless, like the life was being drained from him. 

John crawled onto the bed beside Arthur and grabbed him, trying to stop him from thrashing but Arthur was strong and John struggled.  
“It’s ok , Arthur. It’s ok! This isn’t you. You gotta fight it!”  
Arthur growled at John, writhing and squirming out of his grip, snapping his jaws like the wolf-man did last night.  
“I know you can fight it Arthur,” John was saying, holding Arthur from behind, “please, Arthur you gotta try!”

The growl changed, more like a howling and he shook as if he was fitting. His neck and limbs seemed to protrude at odd angles and as he bared his teeth you could see that fangs had grown in his jaws.  
His shirt ripped to reveal his torso now covered in thick jet coloured hair. He clawed at John, nails grown, giving way to sharp talons. John shouted out in pain but didn’t let go, trying to pin Arthur down futilely. 

Arthur screamed, sounding like when an animal is caught in a trap, it made you shiver and shrink away. Arthur threw John off of him who landed on the floor, the scream changed more to a roar and you gasped, backing away as he now looked at you not as Arthur Morgan, not even as the creature from last night but something else, a beast. 

The eyes had changed, not sorrowful and blue nor empty and black but red and full of rage.

“Get outta here!” John yelled at you and you didn’t hesitate before running down the corridor and into your own bedroom, slamming the door behind you and pressing your back against it. 

You squeezed your eyes shut as the noise from your parents bedroom continued to a crescendo, things sounded like they were being broken, there was a scuffle followed by a piercing howl.  
You felt the floorboards shaking as what you assumed was Arthur bolted from the bedroom and downstairs. You ran to the window in time to see the huge wolf-man running on all fours across the fields and into the woods.

You were shaking so badly you could scarcely open the door and walk back to your parents room where John was.  
He was sitting on the floor, his back to the wall. He was covered in blood.  
“Are you ok?!”  
“It’s just a scratch. He’s done worse,” John replied with a nonchalant shrug, gesturing to the scars on his face.  
For a few moments you stood dumbfounded but then you regained your senses and helped him to his feet. The pair of you went downstairs where you could see the extent of Arthur’s destruction, claw marks on the walls and some floorboards were smashed.

“Should we go after him?” You asked despite the fact you really weren’t sure if you wanted to go chasing Arthur through the woods when he was like this.  
John shook his head. “Ain’t nothin’ we can do when he’s like this. You gotta wait for it to wear off. He’ll come to his senses soon and find his own way home.”

You sat John down at the table and took out whiskey from the kitchen cabinet, intending to use it to clean his wounds but he shook his head.  
“I’d rather drink it.” He told you and you nodded in agreement.

You sat across John Marston heavily and poured both of you a glass John knocked his back in one and you refilled it. 

“I…” You started but you didn’t even know where to begin.  
John’s bright eyes looked tired as his gaze settled on you. 

“Only me, my wife and my boy know ‘bout Arthur and his… Sickness.” He said. “We had to move so many times because he got out and ate some farmers livestock or scared some kid. Always some nosy ranch hand, some busy-body from the church or a bored housewife sniffin’ about and pryin’...”

John drank again, hissing after he swallowed at the warm burn that ran down his throat.

“He can’t help it. Been that way for a long time now. Got mauled by a wolf, thought I’d be buryin’ him but… Well maybe what’s happened to him is worse than that.” He mused, “tonight’s a full moon,” he gestured out of the window, “always happens around the time of a full moon. Sometimes he can fight it but… Most of the time he can’t. It ain’t his fault. He don’t mean to do it, doesn’t even remember most of the time. He don’t wanna hurt no one… Arthur’s a good man; he might be a cold bastard but he’s kind and gentle… That _thing_ ain’t him.” 

You bit your lip, swirling the amber liquid in your glass. “He… He saved me last night. A bear came and he fought it off. I would have died if it weren’t for him.”  
John smiled fondly. You weren’t sure if there were tears in his eyes or whether it was just the way the candle light danced across his face. “He’s a good man,” John repeated quietly, “he don’t deserve none of this.”  
“Was that what you and Mrs Marston was arguing about the other day?”  
John heaved a sigh, “she reckons we should move away without him. But I ain’t about to leave him. He’s my brother. We grew up together and we’ve been through a lot…” John trailed off, looking wistfully out of the still open door of the house, “he wouldn’t abandon me and I ain’t about to abandon him… He needs me.” 

The pair of you shared a silence. John drank another glass of whiskey and you sipped yours thoughtfully.  
“You… You won’t tell no one, will ya?” John asked nervously. “Abigail and Jack, well they like it here. I usually keep Arthur locked away but I was careless this time. I won’t let it happen again… Please don’t tell no one.”  
“I would never tell anyone, Mr Marston. I swear.”  
“I should go home, tell my wife what’s goin’ on.”  
“Let me at least clean you up,” you insisted and John looked too tired to argue.

By the time John was ready to leave, you could hear hooves speeding towards the ranch again. The pair of you whirled around, squinting into the darkness to see who it was.  
Micah’s black horse came running up the trail, the lantern that Micah held lit him from the bottom up, casting menacing shadows across his face.

“Twice in one day,” you said sounding cold, “to what do I owe the pleasure, Mr Bell?”  
Micah greeted you then looked at John suspiciously, “weren’t expectin’ to see you here, Marston.”  
“What you want, Bell?” John asked, glaring at Micah. You got the impression that Micah wasn’t the most popular man in these parts.  
Micah smirked, not dismounting his horse. His ice blue eyes met yours. “Ol’ Mr Phllips from Hanging Dog Ranch came tearin’ into town not less than one hour ago yammerin’ on ‘bout a big ol’ beast he reckons he saw comin’ tearin’ through his fields.”  
You couldn’t stop your eyes from widening but John scoffed.  
“An’ how many whiskeys you reckon _ol’ Mr Phillips_ has had now? He probably started drinkin’ before lunchtime and was seein’ all sorts o’ interesting’ creatures.”

Micah answered John but he was looking at your face. “Oh I don’t know, cowpoke… Sure sounded like he was as sober as a judge to me. Said it was almost eight feet tall, covered in hair and had glowin’ eyes.”  
John laughed, “an’ you believe that?”  
“Course not,” Micah replied snappily, “but there’s definitely somethin’ out there and I'll be damned if some redneck trash obliterates the thing with a shotgun. I want this thing stuffed and mounted on my wall.”

“Well, good luck to you, Mr Bell.”

Micah looked back at you. “You ain’t seen nothin’? I thought maybe it was the same thing that ate your chickens the other day, back fer more.”  
You shook your head perhaps too quickly. “I haven’t seen anything.” 

An awful, sly smile spread across Micah’s face that told you that he knew that everything you and John had just said was a load of bluster. He pulled his hunting rifle from the saddle of his horse and loaded it. “Well, if you _do_ see anythin’, make sure you call on me, won’t ya?”

You nodded again.  
“C’mon Baylocke,” Micah said to his horse which obediently began to trot away down the trail and was eventually swallowed by the darkness.

“What are we gonna do?” You asked John urgently. “He’ll hunt him down!”  
John looked worried again now Micah was gone. He chewed his bottom lip before saying, “I gotta go find him before Micah does.”  
“I’ll come, too!”  
“No.” John replied quickly. “No… It’s dangerous.”  
You snorted, “Mr Marston, I was nearly eaten by a bear yesterday. I think I’m past the point of being too fragile for danger.”  
He agreed and you saddled up Cash and the pair of you rode into the woods.

It was the darkest you had ever seen it, the moon reflecting off of the lighter trees and rocks but didn’t help you much. You felt blind and smothered amongst the trees which were thick and dense. You could smell damp earth, hear Cash’s hooves on the soft ground underfoot and every little sound made you turn around restlessly in case it was Arthur or worse, Micah. 

You wandered around for what felt like hours, trailing after John, neither of you wanting to call out Arthur’s name in case Micah or someone else hiding in the woods heard.

“How long will he… _be like that?_ ” You asked John after a while.  
“‘Til the sun comes up,” John replied. “He turns back like nothin’ ever happened. Sometimes he don't even remember it. Been takin’ its toll on him lately… You've seen him, he’s so sick now. Never used to be like that, think it's 'cause he's gettin’ older… Makes me wonder how long he can really go on."  
You didn't say anything but Arthur certainly looked ill.  
"I ordered herbs and tonics from every doctor from here to Saint Denis to see if it helps him and sometimes it works for a week or two but as soon as the moon's at its fullest he's weak and exhausted again."

John stopped talking now. Both if you could hear noise up ahead. John took hold of his rifle now too, cocking it just in case of another bear.  
“There's tracks here,” John’s voice almost a whisper, moonlight slicing a white beam through the trees. “They're big, could be Arthur.”  
You followed John deeper into the woods. Cash snorted and you soothed him.

You weren't familiar with these woods, never had been this far before. In the distance you could hear water and a train. You knew you must have been getting closer to New Hanover.  
The trees became less dense after a while and gave way to a clearing. You could see the large animal tracks now too and you were certain that John was right.

Sure enough, just a few moments later, Arthur… if you could call him that… came into view. Both you and John stopped your horses.  
Arthur was crouched over the carcass of an animal, looked to be a buck. He was feeding from it hungrily until he heard the sound of yours and John's horses. His ears twitched and his head snapped up and he looked at the pair of you.

John was right. The full moon affected him differently, he looked larger and stronger. There was nothing of Arthur that you could see here.  
You looked nervously over at John whose gaze was fixed on his brother.

“Arthur,” John said gently, “Arthur, it's me John. I've come to take you home.”  
Arthur didn't move. Frozen where he crouched above the carcass, blood around his chops. He wrinkled his muzzle at John. You weren't sure if he recognised him or not. 

Slowly and cautiously, John dismounted his horse and edged towards Arthur.  
“It’s ok”, he cooed as if he was talking to a baby rather than an eight foot, 400 pound wolf-man. “Arthur, it’s me, your brother… you need to come home.”  
Arthur put his head to one side, like a dog, recognising John’s voice and he let out a low sound, a rumble that didn’t sound menacing at all.

He moved off of the deer carcass and towards John on all fours. Tentatively, John reached out a hand to him like you would an animal and Arthur sniffed the air, taking in John’s scent until he moved close enough for his snout to bump John’s hand.  
“That’s right,” John chuckled, “good, Arthur… real good. You gonna come home with me?”  
The rumble changed, sounded more like a purr. John smiled, he whispered to Arthur coaxing him away from the deer carcass and toward the horses.

Cash started to shift nervously but Arthur paid no attention. John was about to mount up but a voice in the darkness made you both start.

“What the hell..?” 

It was Micah. Of course it was, he must have been tracking you just like you had tracked Arthur. He was on foot, rifle aimed at Arthur.  
As soon as Arthur saw Micah, his hackles raised and he bared his teeth at him, snarling.

“I knew you knew somethin’! Tryna get this thing fer yourself…. Jesus Christ, what even is that?!”  
“Get outta hare, Micah.” John said sternly to him.  
“No way, this thing is mine. I ain't letting you get the credit for this one.”  
“Keep outta this,” John’s voice changed, dangerous and louder now.  
“Step aside, Marston.”  
“Mr Bell, please you don't understand.” You started.  
“Oh, I understand.” Micah interrupted you, “this thing’s been terrorisin’ the place and you two saw it and thought to yourselves that you’d kill it and get all the glory, maybe even ask Sheriff Whittaker about a reward.”  
“It ain't like that!” John snapped.  
“Sure it is.”

Maybe it was because John had raised his voice or maybe it was because Micah had raised his rifle but Arthur reared up to his full, terrifying height, letting out a warning bark that made all three of you start.

John pointed his gun at Micah now, “put your gun down, Micah,” John demanded.  
“You two have lost your minds, why you protecting this monster?!”  
“Put your gun down or I will shoot you!”  
“I ain’t got time for this horseshit!” Micah hissed.

Before anything else could happen, Micah had pulled the trigger only he had changed his target from Arthur to John.  
Arthur was as fast as lighting, moving in front of John. Micah was a hunter by trade, it was his livelihood and his bullet didn’t miss like yours had when you had shot at Arthur. You saw Arthur take a couple of steps back. He’d been hit in the stomach. He rumbled in pain and fury.

John cried out, “Arthur!”  
Arthur’s eyes flashed dangerously and he charged at Micah. Before Micah had a chance to react, Arthur had knocked him to the ground, snarling and snapping.

Micah shouted in surprise, his rifle knocked clean from his hands and he lay in the dirt, Arthur pinning him down with his large paws. You watched in horror, rooted to the spot. Arthur’s jaws sunk into Micah's throat and you screamed. John was shouting but you barely heard it.  
Micah’s shrieks pierced the air. Soon he stopped struggling from beneath Arthur and went limp. 

You looked away, couldn't watch as Arthur devoured Micah, you’d already seen too much: a burst of crimson red, tendons and flesh gushing out onto the ground, mixing with the mud, leaving a potent copper tang in the air.  
You could look away or cover your eyes but you couldn’t block out the sound - it was unlike anything you had ever heard before, Micah’s strangled screams dissolved into choked gurgles and laboured moans. 

John had run to Arthur, trying to pull him off of Micah but it was useless. Arthur was too strong, he knocked John away and for the second time that evening, John found himself lying flat on his back at the hands of his brother.

It felt like you sat there for a lifetime with your hands over your ears and your eyes squeezed shut.  
When Arthur was done he leant back on his heels and howled, John had vomited and you remained frozen, heart pounding in your chest like it would burst out of your ribcage. 

You could hear Arthur panting again, when you opened your eyes to look at him, he was covered in blood, it spilled from his chin and down his torso and all over his paws.

John got shakily to his feet and looked down at Micah’s severed body, completely unrecognisable. In a strange juxtaposition, everything felt so peaceful now. You could hear the water again and birds were beginning to sing as the sun began to break through the trees.  
John was at his side again. You watched the beast turn back into a man. He visibly shrunk in size, the coarse hair disappeared and you could see Arthur's soft skin beneath. He sobbed in audible pain and John comforted him, holding him until the transformation was over and Arthur Morgan lay on the ground.

The gunshot wound looked nasty. John pulled his own coat off and covered Arthur’s now bare frame with it, “we gotta get him back, he’s hurt real bad.”

You rode fast. Neither of you spoke on the ride back to the ranch, Arthur sat slumped forward in the saddle of John’s horse, John behind him, one arm around him to keep him from falling. You could see that his face was stricken and afraid. 

The pair of you managed to haul him inside and once again, he was laid on your parents bed while you tended to him. John didn’t leave his side once. You feared for the worst and so did John despite neither of you saying it. You cleaned the wound carefully but he needed real medical attention.

When Kieran showed up you immediately sent him to get the doctor from Valentine.  
He questioned you, of course he did, not understanding why you needed a doctor (Are you hurt?!”) or what Mr Marston was doing there and why the house looked in such a state but you barked at him, telling him it was important. Kieran looked afraid of you but also too afraid to protest. He rode away down the trail as fast as his horse could take him.

Abigail showed up next with Jack, both looking fearful. John couldn’t speak. Arthur had been slipping in and out of consciousness, groaning in pain and calling for John. The pair of you had kept him warm and stable and you feared that it was all that could be done now.

You’d lit the lights by the time Kieran returned with the doctor.  
All of you waited downstairs for the doctor. Abigail spoke when he came down.  
“What are his chances?”  
“I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up. He’s been patched up but he’s certainly been in the wars... He needs good care.”

Abigail turned to John. “We got Jack to think of,” she said softly, “and the stables…”  
“I ain’t given’ up on him.” John said fiercely.  
“I can do it.” You piped up. “I can take care of him here. It’s remote enough, I don’t think anyone will come poking their noses in.”  
John was shaking his head, rubbing his temples as he circled the room, “I can’t ask you to. He’s my brother, my responsibility-”  
“Mr Marston, please. I want to do this. I’m not asking for your permission.” You’d said it so firmly that he looked startled. “You’re exhausted. Go home and rest. If anything changes I’ll send Mr Duffy.”

Abigail smirked, “sounds like you’ve been told, John Marston. They’re right.”  
John stopped pacing now, eyes fixed on yours. Even from the first time you had seen Arthur in his wolf form, you had been scared of course but you had known that he wasn’t going to hurt you. From the moment you met Arthur Morgan, he had been soft spoken and kind… You couldn’t explain what pulled you to him or why and maybe you didn’t have to. 

“Thank you.” John said eventually. He went outside to his horse followed by young Jack.  
Abigail touched your forearm gently as she left, “thank you.” 

The doctor left soon after. Kieran was still outside, he looked worried.  
“Is everythin’ ok?” He asked when you went out.  
“It’s fine. Go home for today, Mr Duffy.”  
You knew he wanted you to tell him what the hell was going on and maybe you would but now wasn’t the time.

****

Two days later Arthur Morgan woke up. When everyone else had left, you had been afraid that he might turn again that night but he didn’t. The gunshot wound had been stitched up and dressed with bandages. The doctor had given him medicine for the pain and he slept soundly through the night and into the next day.

It was early the next afternoon when you heard movement from upstairs and went to investigate. Arthur still had John’s coat wrapped around him but you had found some of daddy's old clothes, a shirt that was slightly too small and wouldn’t quite button across his broad chest and pants that weren’t too restricting, and John had dressed him before he left for home. 

Arthur had managed to sit himself up, gingerly pressing his palm to his wound on his lower abdomen. He winced as he pressured it.  
“You need to take it easy, Mr Morgan,” you told him as you entered the bedroom.  
He looked up at you hazily and confused, “where am I..? What happened?” He rasped.  
“You don’t remember?”  
Arthur shook his head. “I.... We were in the yard and then you brought me inside…”

You didn't know where to start so you started at the beginning. Arthur’s bright blue eyes widened as you told him how events unfolded.

“I killed Micah Bell?” He said quietly after a long silence.  
You nodded hesitantly.  
Arthur looked down at his hands and when he spoke his voice cracked. “I… I never killed no one before.”  
“You didn’t mean to. You were only protecting John. Micah was going to shoot him.”  
“So you brought me here?” Arthur asked, hands clenching into first, bright blue eyes looking back up at you, they were glassy with tears but he didn’t allow himself to cry. “You’ve been takin’ care o’ me?”  
You nodded, feeling yourself getting a little hot. “You saved me from the bear so… I feel like I kinda owed you.”  
Arthur’s face changed, those eyes like childhood summer skies met yours and his lips formed a warm smile “well then, I guess we’re even.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to leave kudos or feedback and check out my [tumblr](https://tahitianmangoes.tumblr.com)


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